A Dream Within a Dream
by hippiechick2112
Summary: A tenure in Korea was a nightmare itself. Fantasizing about situations that will never exist calmed the soul. But whatever springs up in the mind doesn't need to be shared. After all, it was only a surreal adventure in a strange time and place. Includes all characters throughout the movie and TV series.
1. Frank and Margaret: Initial Encounters

**A Dream Within a Dream**

 **Note and Disclaimer: Obviously, nobody here owns _M*A*S*H._ This is something new I was hoping to flesh out. This is imaginary scenarios each character is dreaming about. I mean, everybody has fantasies. Some people just have more than others and can't make them come true. I just hope this works out. Enjoy!**

* * *

She was like a mirage in the desert. She appeared almost instantly to his side in a shimmer when he arrived at his new station, M*A*S*H 4077th. She approached the jeep and smiled, in an angelic sort of way, and introduced herself as Major Margaret Houlihan, the head nurse of the camp. She held her hand out for a shake.

Major Frank Burns was no stranger to women. Granted, he was a married man, but he always had his fill whenever little Louise was not looking. And this Margaret Houlihan was a gem to behold. He took her hand strongly and shook it while he was still in the vehicle.

"Frank Burns," he said. " _Major_ Frank Burns." He giggled.

Margaret copied him. Her laughter was to _die_ for. "Of course. You must be the new surgeon!"

"The one and only." Frank hopped out of the jeep and watched as two enlisted men took his belongings to the surgeons' tent. "Now, where do I meet the commanding officer in this camp?"

"Oh, _him._ " Margaret seemed to have some disdain for the CO. "He's in his office. I'm not sure if he's smoking or drinking. He might be out fishing. Who knows? That bobble head can't control this camp."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see, he's isn't…well, you know, _military_. He's a draftee…or he was one. He doesn't ask for respect or follow regulations. He has been in the Army for a few years, but not like me. This is my life and I am devoted to it. How long have you been in the Army, Major Burns?"

"Frank. Please call me Frank." Even the way Margaret said his rank made him want to go to his knees. "It's been some time. Oh, maybe ten years or so? But who's counting?"

"Right." Margaret nodded. "Well, let's see if he's available, shall we?"

Frank considered it his best wish coming true. Margaret Houlihan, leading him to the commanding officer? He couldn't wait!

Of course, she wasn't too familiar with him. That was going to come later surely. But the way she swung her little hips, the way her platinum blonde hair curled and the way that green uniform danced delightfully on her body…it made Frank mad. He hadn't been so hot for a woman since Nancy, his receptionist, and he had to send her away to a special clinic and out of town, before his wife knew anything. Margaret Houlihan was a totally different animal…and an Army brat too!

Frank's heart was throbbing and his pants jiggled all the way to the colonel's office. Even then, he hardly paid any heed to this man and made sure he covered his transgression. Margaret had named this man unrespectable in so many ways and she was right, by the way this Colonel Blake spoke. He wasn't dedicated to the American way of life, like he and Margaret were. But even then, that _nurse_ was on Frank's mind instead of some lame speech. All he was concerned about was having that body in his arms and nibbling on her ear lobes until she begged for mercy.

Maybe that was what got her to listen – those thoughts. It was a dream within a dream, a surreal fancy coming true. When Frank was finished with the colonel, he headed out and was going to ask someone for a tour. But Margaret got there first. She sashayed right on over, past the company clerk typing a report, and told him that she will show him around the camp. There wasn't anybody of equal or higher rank allowed to, she added.

Frank didn't know that was a rule in the Army for that. He thought that he memorized them all. But with the way Margaret was eying him, he knew that it was a lie to cover up something. He didn't argue it. He only followed her, outside and around the perimeter and into the circle. She pointed out every tent and warned him about certain things. Schedules had been posted everywhere and boundaries had to be respected. Privacy was an item well prized, Margaret had explained. Everybody disliked having to live out in the open.

"And what about us?" Frank asked sweetly when they reached the nurses' tents.

"Yes, indeed," Margaret said. "What _about_ us?"

Frank didn't know how to answer that. He felt awkward standing there, unable to give Margaret a suave response. He didn't need to though. She took charge and told him that her tent was right around the corner.

"And wouldn't you know?" she exclaimed. "I left my Army manual in there. There are some things I'd like to review with you, Major Burns."

Frank obliged her, of course. There was no other way. He followed her into that black hole that was her tent door and seemed to disappear, falling into an abyss with no name. He thought that he had Margaret in the bag…or she had him…and that their relationship would stand the test of time. He finally found his mistress and she was willing! It was the perfect plan. Margaret was the woman in the apartment and he'd go home to Louise every night.

What he did not realize was that it was all a dream anyway. The meeting never happened that way. In reality, it took some wooing before they were able to consummate their very special friendship. And even then, it was fraught with fights, both ugly and passionate, and some very special nights that defined the moon and stars.

Frank woke up to Hawkeye and Trapper staring at him. For once, the two were utterly speechless. But then, one mimicked something to the other and began a charade that Frank understood the basic gist of. It was a fool that did not see that they knew that he was experiencing the best surreal recollection of his life…and that he had spoken his fantasies out loud.

He got up quickly and grabbed his towel. "I am taking a shower!" he announced. He slammed the door behind him.


	2. Hawkeye and Margaret: Balance of Power

There were so many beautiful nurses that he could think about. Every night, there was always a different one that catered to his needs. Sometimes, he managed to have one for a week before some girl spoiled it and another naïve one took her place. Other times, they came to him as punishment and demanded more. They used and abused him just as much as he did.

But for Hawkeye Pierce, there was one woman he'd love to have and she was practically unobtainable. Margaret Houlihan was always sniffing up Frank's back (and then some, but Hawkeye did not want to think about it). He's teased and cajoled her into coming to him alone and she's always refused him in oh so many ways. He had to keep trying though. There was no other way Margaret would crumble to his advances.

Late one night, he cornered her. She was pulling off her bloodied white gown. They just finished a grueling OR session and she looked tired. Her blonde hair tumbled down when her cap was lifted. The curls bounced and twinkled in the light just so. Hawkeye drew closer to get a better look. He touched her shoulder and soon found his arms full.

"I've been waiting for this moment for _months_ ," Margaret whispered in his ear.

Hawkeye was baffled. He thought that he was going to endure a mouthful of bantering, insults and regulation spitting. This was a complete three-sixty…and he loved it. He didn't know what to say though. For once, he was tongue-tied.

"Oh, really now?" he asked stupidly.

There was no verbal reply. She went for a kiss. Hawkeye returned it and felt an electric shock run down, from his lips to his toes. Energized by her hot touch, he picked her up and felt the strong arms wrap around his neck. He hardly staggered as he made his way from the dressing room to the Swamp. That too was surprising. Anybody Margaret kissed always fell to their knees and begged for mercy. Frank was always a prime example (as were numerous other officers, but that was beside the point).

Hawkeye made it to the Swamp and laid Margaret on his cot. Without another surgeon in sight, it was bound to be a wonderful time. Immediately, he pounced. He was on top of Margaret before she had the chance to talk and began pulling at her clothes and kissing her, all over her face and neck. There was too many of them! He could hardly count on what his lips and hands were doing. Even his half discarded articles were of no consequence.

Margaret was a tough fighter and took charge. She did not like to be dominated and stripped like a common doxy. When she had the chance, Hawkeye noted the subtle change, from prey to predator. Suddenly, she rolled over him and pushed him to the floor. Her naked body peered from above, hands propping up her head. She was laughing at him!

Hawkeye was confused even more. "What's so funny?"

"The great Lothario can't get it up," she teased.

" _What_? No." Hawkeye tugged at his own pants as if he was guilty of what she said. He sat up to face her. "How dare Madam presume so?"

" _Madam_ does not presume so. She sees something that Sir does not." Margaret giggled again and got up.

Somehow, it seemed natural to be walking around an open tent without any clothes on. Margaret was a pro at it, but had another aim in mind. She found a dirty martini glass and blew the dust out of it. Then, she decided that a nightcap was the best thing in the world. Hawkeye could not keep track of how much she drank. He just knew that it was enough to make his eyes bug out. He thought about joining her, but something stopped him. Being sober seemed to be his best bet.

When Margaret decided to come back to him, she was very drunk. She could hardly stand and was slurring every other word. Hawkeye couldn't make out anything, but he was sure that she still wanted him. Again, something made him not do it. He had every opportunity and he had the advantage, but he chose to forget about it.

"Hawkeye Pierce," Margaret chanted. Disorderly as she was, she was ugly. "Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce…"

Hawkeye was up in an instant and zipping up his pants. "Look, Margaret," he begged. "We can't go on like this."

But she continued to press her suit. Hawkeye didn't even care about having a shirt, socks and shoes on. He ducked for the door and was about to make a run for it. However, before he could even step outside, Margaret jumped and grabbed him from behind. They both tumbled to the ground face first and were soon fighting to see who the winner was. Hawkeye considered escape to be his best bet. He wasn't going to be accused of rape.

"Margaret, let go!" he yelled. "Let _go_!"

The mantra woke Hawkeye up from his dream. He eyed his surroundings. Yes, he was in the Swamp. Trapper and Frank were sound asleep. But there was somebody else next to him, also breathing the innocence of slumber. He was startled, but didn't want to wake anybody up with his screaming. Carefully, he reached over to turn his overhead light on. Instantly, this woke everybody else but his companion up.

"Pierce!" Frank complained.

"Aww, come off it, Hawk," Trapper added. "Can't a guy get some beauty rest here?"

"Might be better off in the mine field," Hawkeye replied. He looked around him. "Anybody know who came in here the last few hours?"

"Anybody and everybody," Trapper said. "Listen, Hawkeye, go to sleep. You'd do us all a favor if you did."

Frank grumbled something about leaving other people's interests alone and rolled over to avoid the light in his face. Hawkeye ignored it. He thought that Frank was talking about them gluing his Bible together and rewriting the commandments again. Religion was hardly an interest with Frank, but he always pretended.

"All right, all right," Hawkeye finally said. "Good night, everyone."

The other two echoed their sentiments and grumbled some more. Hawkeye turned the lamp off and tried settling back down like his bunkmates. Somehow, he couldn't. Something was off. He should have been enjoying having a woman in his bed and not having artillery nearby.

"Good night, Hawkeye," the female voice whispered sleepily. She drifted back to her dreams.

Hawkeye was curious. He turned the light back on and pulled the blanket back. When he saw who was there, he yelled and ran out the door.

It was Margaret.


	3. Trapper and Margie: Marriage Games

Margie Cutler was every man's best fancy. She was kind, generous and very beautiful. Trapper always imagined her in his arms. It wasn't too hard. He knew that after the boxing game, this prey was in the bag. She wasn't going to let him go because he had won to keep her in camp.

Indeed, it was wonderful to have her chase him around for once. He didn't need to worry about the competition anymore. Margie was all fists when it came down to other men. She even got so annoyed Hawkeye that she kicked him against the basketball pole and left him to moan his manhood. And despite being the best of buddies with Hawkeye when he was drinking, Trapper smiled and thought that his friend finally earned his due.

He looked forward to every date. Even the anticipated night in the Supply Room made Trapper's heart thud. It took him all day to prepare for it. He absconded some good food from the kitchen (if he could call it that). He tipped generous amounts of the still gin into two flasks. He also grabbed some blankets and pillows from Supply and changed the numbers so that some wiseass Army nincompoop decided to be nosy. Nothing was going to stand in his way!

He met Margie outside at the appointed hour and kissed her passionately. With the basket of goodies in hand, he put his other arm around her and they walked together to their spot. Trapper ensured that the coat hanger was on the doorknob and set up their dinner, completed on a crate and with candles to light their circle of comfort. He had to be careful. He didn't want some other surgeon or enlisted guy coming in and spoiling his good time.

Margie was already settled and grabbing the food and drinks. Trapper chided her and set it all up like a gentleman. He waited until she was ready to eat and didn't take a bite or a swig until she did. Then, it was fair game. The two played and dug into each other's plates and flasks. Margie even smashed some creamed corn into Trapper's face. He laughed it off and threw some back.

But there was something off about the whole thing. Trapper swore that it was nerves or maybe the long OR sessions. Margie was a different story and setting off all the warning signs of breaking it off. Sure, she was just as affectionate as before. Something was just on her mind and she was unusual, more distant maybe. That was all.

Margie noticed that he saw her inner discomfort. Eventually, she toned down on the antics and continued her meal in a sullen silence. Trapper did the same, but tried to interject here and there with a joke or two. Margie laughed halfheartedly. He joined her.

 _But there was no spark!_

Trapper was concerned now. He put her fork down loudly. "Margie, sweetie, what's wrong?" he demanded. It was rude and demeaning, but he had to know.

"I don't know what you mean, Trapper," she replied smoothly. The lie was easy and almost passed.

He didn't buy it. "What gives, Margie? We've had a great time. I don't think I've had this much fun –"

"Since your wife and daughters bid you farewell?" Margie threw out viciously.

Trapper was shocked. "Margie, they're in Boston. We're here. _This_ is all that matters."

"Not when you have people waiting for you at home," she insisted. "Your wife expects you to be faithful to your vows. Your daughters want their daddy to come home and to be with their mommy. Not with some woman he met in a foreign country!"

Trapper didn't know what to say now. He had been open with all of the nurses he curried favor with that he was married and had children at home. They did not care. Just as long as it didn't affect them and his wife didn't know about it, they dated him just for fun. Margie seemed to be the first one to object and she had been with him for some weeks now. There was only one possibility that she was saying something now.

"What brought this on?" he finally asked her, to confirm his theory. "You knew about Louise."

"I did not," Margie confessed. It was the truth. "I thought you were a single man, just like Hawkeye."

The truth smacked Trapper in the face, so much so that he moaned. "You're telling me that _Hawkeye_ told you…?"

Margie shook her head. "No. I don't like Hawkeye. He didn't tell me anyway."

"Well, then who did?"

"Ugly John."

"What?!" Trapper was furious. "You mean to tell me that our anesthetist informed you that I was _married_?!"

"When I don't get a lot of forthcoming information about you, I have to go digging." Margie crossed her arms. She was not fazed by his anger. "Ugly John told me everything. And it didn't take much to bribe Radar. It's all in your files. He told me the truth…unlike you."

"Margie, I thought you knew," Trapper said. He went to his knees in grief, pushing away the angst and sorrow. He was losing this jewel quickly. "I swear, on the lives of my daughters, that I had no idea you were ignorant of my marital state. I never meant to hurt you and my family. Margie? _Margie!_ "

It was a nightmare. Margie did not care for what Trapper had to say anymore. Abruptly, she got up, knocking over their meal and bedding. The gin splattered all over the place. The crate overturned and the contents landed all over the shelves. Trapper had to make sure the candles did not light anything on fire before chasing after Margie. He was desperate.

He stopped her, grabbing her from behind and sinking himself to the ground. "Margie, _please_. We have something special here."

Margie did the same thing to Trapper as she did to Hawkeye. She turned around and kicked him hard between his legs, knocking him down. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Trapper closed his eyes. He was in agony. It wasn't just the physical pain (and that was bad enough). It was mental. Margie had been everything to him. With his wife and children so far away, he thought that he found somebody to confine in and spent time with, to forget the war. He needed that distraction and Margie had been the perfect one. Now, with her so pissed about him being married and with children, Trapper had to question everything he had ever done.

Was it worth it to cheat on his wife? Did it matter how it felt, several thousand miles from home, to be without the woman he originally fell in the love with? Was it enough that he was unable to hold his daughters and to keep them safe? Would he ever see them again?

The inquires rolled in his mind until he woke up. But Trapper was no longer in the Supply Room. He was in the Swamp, sleeping off his drinks. Happy Hour had come and gone and Margie had stayed the night with him. She was curled up with him on his cot. It was a tight fit, but it was well worth it.

Trapper was so happy that it was all a dream. He kissed Margie on the forehead anxiously. The scent of her drove him mad. He began the process all over again, moving his lips from her face down to her neck, arms and shoulders. Before long, he had pulled down her shirt and was kissing her breasts.

Sleepy as she was, she stopped him with a single movement of her own mouth. She silenced the noise, smacking her lips against his, and fell back into her slumbers. Trapper was surprised. Normally, she was all over him. Tonight, she seemed atoned to his feelings and was suggesting sleeping it off, not nibbling.

"Good night," she whispered.

Trapper obeyed her wishes and resumed his original position. "Good night, my love. May you last until I go home."


	4. Henry and Leslie: Foreshadowing Fears

They called her a delicious dish. Leslie "Dish" Scorch was one hot meal and was always ready to go…or so the guys said. Henry Blake didn't care for it at first and tried to keep it in his pants every time he thought about her. She wasn't his to begin with. Hawkeye, Trapper and many more conspired to push her into the Mess Tent after Painless Pole tried committing suicide. The two had been a hit item for a while, but then things fizzled out and she was looking for another mate. Nobody knew what happened, but that Leslie was going cold.

Henry listened to this gossip with little interest and continued his initialing and signing and ignoring the nagging feeling below. He knew what the camp was up to concerning Painless Pole. He hardly went through his day without someone complaining about their love affairs anyway. It was normal. If he didn't have that (or Klinger coming in with some phony letter or being ushered in by some MPs), then he'd have to question his sanity.

But when Leslie came to him in his office, tears streaming down her face about the while affair and how Painless Pole was being an ass, Henry knew that there was a problem indeed. He listened to her complaints with sympathy and feigned being so concerned. He patted her hand and told her it would be ok in the end. Deep inside though, that acting was for real. He definitely was surprised. To have another woman ring his bells (other than his wife) was a relationship worth having indeed.

Well, except that, in the end, Leslie was truly after Henry. It all started at the movies a few nights after the incident in his office. They were watching _Million Dollar Baby_ for the…well, _millionth_ time that week. While the movie wasn't all that great to begin with, Henry began to snooze off as Ronald Reagan (playing Peter Rowan) breaks it off with Priscilla Lane (playing Pam McAllister). From way behind him, there was a tap on his shoulder.

Henry almost screamed bloody murder. For God's sake, this was a war zone. He was always cautious and carried weapons whenever he could (mostly keeping a revolver under his pillow in his tent). Being caught off guard was not his favorite pastime, especially in a dark tent and with a movie playing. But when he saw Leslie and her brown curls lighting her face, he sighed with relief. She was signaling for him to come with her.

And indeed, Henry followed the crook of her finger. The darkness melted away and all he saw was a shining figure, dressed in a white gown. It wasn't the one he always saw her in either, when they were in the OR. This was different, akin to a wedding dress, but not as fancy.

"I thought you'd like to come to my tent," Leslie said to him when he drew closer.

Henry stuttered for a moment. "I'd love to."

Leslie took him by the hand and led him down to her quarters. Henry thought that it was a little unusual. He wasn't complaining though. To have a beautiful woman take him into temptation and without his wife around was a dream come true. There was no personnel in the camp who came up to him or whispered some inane gossip as they passed. The war even seemed to come to a standstill.

Leslie opened the door and darted inside with a giggle. Henry was oddly quicker. He passed her and stood before her, grinning like a madman and laughing mechanically. He thought it strange that the walls melted away and that they were no longer in her tent and outside by the creek, but that was no matter to him. His feet stomped in the water as she rushed into his arms and kissed him passionately.

Leslie's kiss was almost as stunning as Margaret's was. Henry staggered under the weight of such lips. He returned the favor and tried opened his mouth a little more, but she stopped him. She pulled away and just held him. It was childlike in many ways and begged for some help. Henry's heart melted. He set aside his urges and pushed himself to accept that Leslie wanted a little love. Happiness was always fleeting, he figured, and she was trying to take it a little slower. _He_ was running much too fast!

 _And she was the one instigating. Hmm…_

"Henry, what am I to you?" she finally asked after a few minutes.

"A beautiful star," Henry replied. "You're a shining example."

"Yes, but I am so much younger than you. You have a wife and children."

"They are not here. _You_ are, my dear."

Henry knew that Leslie wasn't quite content with the answer. She remained quiet though and curled closer. They remained that way for some time. Eventually, she pulled away, but her fingers lingered on his. Something had changed about her. Her white dress soaked up some water from her bare feet. The liquid traveled up the fabric and somehow managed to make her body cold and blue, like she had drowned. It was almost like she was dead!

Henry was terrified. Over and over again, he asked her if she was all right. Leslie kept shaking her head. He could not tell what the answer was or if he should call for more help. When he tried opening his mouth, something silenced him. His tongue was stilled.

"It won't be long now, Henry," Leslie announced. "You can't run and hide for long. Everything here is always a distraction. Nothing can prepare you for the worst."

A creeping fear rushed over Henry. For a split moment, he thought that this war would be the death of him. His mind went to Lorraine and their children. It was bad enough that she was alone and pregnant with their third child. Worse, she had to care for their daughters by herself. His death would be a crushing blow to them. He couldn't stand for it, not even from Leslie.

Henry was about to say something, but was soon jolted from the horrifying scene. When his eyes opened, he was in the Mess Tent and supposed to be watching some movie. He saw Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn ahead and sighed with relief. The fantasy about Leslie and the death she foretold was just a dream.

However, her presence was very much felt. Leslie sat next to Henry on the right. She held his hand tightly, whispering to her other neighbor about how many times she had seen _The Philadelphia Story_ and her wish that the Army would send them something else. She also mentioned something about her date snoring away and that it was a sure indicator that they should be elsewhere.

Henry smiled broadly and leaned over. "Want to come to my tent?"

"What?" Leslie was startled. She appeared to be the child caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

"Why don't we go to my tent? It'll have more than darkness and less company."

Leslie thought about it for a moment before getting up. "I'm in. Let's go."


	5. Painless Pole and Leslie: Breakup Dance

Walter Koskiusko "Painless Pole" Waldowski was _depressed_. He wasn't like that before, when he thought that his manhood had been threatened. It had been a wonderful woman, Leslie "Dish" Scorch, that persuaded him that he was not a homosexual. Painless Pole was grateful for her kindness…until he was jilted. Ever since Leslie had left him, he thought that his days were numbered and that he no longer belonged anywhere.

It was worse that Leslie went after their CO, Colonel Blake. Old Henry had a soft spot for the women, especially because his wife wasn't around. It was too easy for Leslie to run for his paternal care and leave Painless Pole in the dirt. And it didn't take much effort either. Leslie was getting bored with him. Even their postwar plans did not make sense anymore and she no longer held interest in a Stateside home.

And so, Painless Pole lost the woman he hungered after. It burned him enough to be obsessive. Everyday, as he sat by the Swamp, he watched Leslie walk hand-in-hand with Henry. It was all he did until he had to work in someone's mouth or go to the OR. Otherwise, Hawkeye, Trapper and the others tried to get him to get over Leslie. They pushed nurse after nurse in his direction. It never worked because none of them were like her. Painless Pole only wanted one woman: Leslie. She would only get him up.

He went on like this until he recalled one strange afternoon. They had been in the OR for hours. Painless Pole had never been helpful there, but he was always a body that carried wounded men from one place to another. Hawkeye and Trapper always made him help them too.

Painless Pole was so tired. It had been a grueling session and he was ready to go to bed. For once, he did not brood for Leslie. Any cot was more comfortable than a woman's breasts for the moment. Hell, even Klinger was a comfortable. His Scarlett O'Hara dress was large enough that Painless Pole could have used it for a pillow and slept through Klinger's complaints all the same.

His eyes hardly stayed open. Painless Pole blindly walked through the compound, eager to find any tent to sleep in. He could not find his and didn't know which direction he was going to. He just understood that he had to get someplace to slumber…and that somebody was holding him up. Painless Pole did not care who was assisting him. He was oddly appreciative that there was some comfort before the blackout.

He did not know what was going on until hours later. When Painless Pole woke up, he was lying down, all right…and there was a woman next to him. They were covered under a blanket, but did not have any other clothes on. Painless Pole thought the mystery was more and more intriguing. He had to pull aside the green material to see his savior. He never minded being so close to a woman and was shocked to see who was there.

 _It was Leslie!_

Painless Pole was so elated that he almost screamed with delight. For the moment though, he had to tread carefully. Sure, Leslie had (with any luck) chosen to be with him. But he was going to scare her if he made any sudden moves. He had to do his best to woo her. She had done it for him in a surprising manner. He had to have the courage and patience to do the same.

Eagerly, he waited until she woke up. It took some time, no doubt about it. Once those smoky eyes blinked, Painless Pole was caressing her, from the face to the breast. Leslie smiled and purred. She leaned back and stretched like a cat in anticipation of every move. Then, when it seemed like Painless Pole would move further down, she made a grab for his black hair. The sudden jerk stopped his ministrations quickly.

"There isn't anybody like you," she declared so quietly that Painless Pole almost did not hear her. "But I think you're going about it the wrong way."

Painless Pole chuckled. "Well, _which_ way do you think I should go?"

"South is a good direction," Leslie decided. "It's warmer down there."

The answer was what Painless Pole had been waiting for. Ever since Leslie broke it off with him, he had been praying (well, _hoping_ anyway) that she would come back. This was the best he could have imagined. But something was stopping him from moving forward. It was like a mirage. The picture of a naked Leslie soon developed in another world, where he was laying on a cot, still naked. His clothes were crumpled on the floor next to him.

Leslie was standing over him. "How _dare_ you?" she screamed as she slapped him across the face. "Keep your filthy hands off of me!"

Painless Pole shook his head free from the wonderful dream. Dejected, he noticed that he was in the nurses' tent. He listened to Leslie shout out a list of grievances and a threat that Major Houlihan will hear about his assault. Worse, Leslie pushed him out of the nurses' tent with nothing except the gown he wore in the OR and a blanket. He didn't have time to change. He had to make a mad dash to the Swamp.

He endured the whistles from his fellow campmates before the final applause at the Swamp. From the poker game before him, he even had to tolerate the crass comments from Spearchucker, Ugly John, Trapper and Hawkeye. Even with his esteemed gusts (including Sidney Freedman and Sam Pak), Henry Blake just sat there, smoking his cigar. He played a hand and grinned, taking his winnings from the others. He did note that Painless Pole hardly was in uniform and saluted.

It was humiliating. Painless Pole swiftly changed and excused himself. He could not look at anybody in the face just yet. It was bad enough that Leslie was going to report him. _Nobody_ was going to believe that he didn't mean to fall asleep in the nurses' tent…and Leslie's bed, for that matter!

In the meantime, the pining had to cease. Leslie was never going to let up and Painless Pole had learned a hard lesson about women. He could not trust them. He was too sophisticated and his talents were wasted in Korea.

Hell, Leslie could have Henry Blake all she wanted. Their relationship was nothing more than a rebound from a suicide anyway. Painless Pole was just another memory and he was glad of it. Leslie will remain the same.


	6. Hawkeye and Trapper: Strange Bedfellows

Hawkeye always felt very close to Trapper. It all started when Hawkeye arrived. Ever since Trapper egged him on and the two went on a nurse hunt and a pranking spree, their friendship was cemented in concrete. Korea was their playground and they were the leaders of the small turf they had to call home until discharge. Even the Regular Army brats could not stop them now. They were on top of the world.

But he never felt anything more than a brotherly love for Trapper. People always whispered that their womanizing techniques hid homosexual tendencies. Not so, says Hawkeye! He had proof of his many conquests, more so than the married Trapper John, and showed them off when he could. Even acting the stalker to the nurses proved without a shadow of a doubt that he was a lady's man. He couldn't believe that people thought him inclined the other way if he was nibbling on ears or watching the women wash their underwear on Thursdays. It was unthinkable!

But there was always something about Trapper that Hawkeye could not put his finger on. Sure, he always joined in on the fun and always grabbed his flavor of the week. But there were always letters from his wife and daughters. Trapper was also very depressed that he was not home. He made that known very few times, mostly when he was drunk, and continued on his nurse rampage to scourge the fires of sadness.

Hawkeye pinpointed it shortly. One night, they both were alone in the Swamp. It was a cold late summer night, one that even Hawkeye cursed. The tent sides were down in an effort to keep warm. The stove was stuffed with kindling and some papers. He and Trapper were sitting together and bundled up in their jackets and beginning their nurse-free night. Their new still was up and running. The fruits of their labors dribbled into two martini glasses. As they waited those anxious seconds, they eyed each other with some sort of new understanding.

Hawkeye thought that it was about the excitement. It had taken them _weeks_ to get enough supplies for this machine. Even so, it was taken more paperwork to cover it up before Frank Burns destroyed it against his precious regulations. Radar had been a gem throughout the process and Hawkeye was elated to have something of home at long last.

The feeling lasted long into the night. When the glasses had been filled, time and time again, Hawkeye and Trapper bantered about the merits of multi-layer socks under Frank's pillow, the latest medical journals and even how to get mint cough syrup into the next batch. Hawkeye noticed that, the more Trapper got drunk, the closer he got. He noted at least five times that Trapper moved his hand near his and then retreated.

 _What the hell?_

Eventually, Hawkeye had to say something. "Trap, is something the matter?"

"Naw," Trapper replied. He stumbled on some words. "Not with you is there something the matter."

Hawkeye didn't quite understand what that meant. He let it go and poured Trapper another glass. He took it, all right, and ended up dribbling it down the front of his shirt instead of in his mouth. Hawkeye thought that his bunkie was too drunk to continue their conversation. He suggested going to bed.

"Are you going to read me a bedtime story?" Trapper asked.

"Not tonight," Hawkeye reassured him. "You can count sheep on your own."

"But…but…but…I need to say good night to the moon!"

"I am sure the moon will understand, Trap. Go to sleep."

Hawkeye tried helping Trapper into his cot. His friend was having none of it. He fought Hawkeye tooth and nail about laying down. First, Trapper began his assault verbally. Eventually, he began beating on Hawkeye's shoulders, demanding that he be set free. Then, he continued the rant by chanting phrases of liberation, love and something to do with equality. Hawkeye could not tell. His head was buzzing already.

"Trapper, go to bed!" he yelled, shoving his friend off of him. "You're drunk! We've got Post-Op duty in the morning and we need our beauty sleep."

"What does it matter?" Trapper yelled back as he landed on his cot. "You don't love me like I love you."

Hawkeye froze. " _What_ …what did you say?"

"I said that you never love me like I love you."

"I never said that, Trap. I love you like a brother."

"And that's the problem!"

It was then that Trapper started sobbing. Hawkeye didn't know how to handle the situation. Honestly, all he thought was best was sitting back and doing nothing. If he heard Trapper right, then the camp gossip was true. There was a closet homosexual in the Swamp…and it wasn't him.

It was his best friend, Trapper John.

Hawkeye was stunned. He didn't know how to take it. Sure, he didn't care that Trapper loved men. He sincerely wished people could be whatever they wanted in life. But to know that his bunkie was in love with him was astonishing. He didn't return these feelings and that was a huge dilemma. He was stunned into silence.

"Oh! Didn't think old Trapper John had it in him?" his friend taunted when the tears subsided. "You didn't think that I'd swing the other way?"

"It's not like that, Trapper," Hawkeye protested. "I mean, I do appreciate – I am flattered, I mean –"

"But you don't love me." Trapper's tone was flat and cold. The repeated message hurt more the second time for both of them.

"It's hard to say," Hawkeye admitted. "Trap, we're stuck in a hellhole. We're very close. I do love and care for you…just…you know…not _that_ way."

That didn't seem to work. Even though Hawkeye felt that he was being honest and was standing his ground, it made matters worse. Trapper screamed on top of his lungs and lunged forward.

"You…will… _love_ …me!" Trapper screamed.

Hawkeye tried scrambling out of the way and ended up tripping over some old magazines. He yelled and swam through the garbage as Trapper jumped on his back and beat him with his fist. The door was in sight. It seemed to close and yet, so far away. He tried reaching for it with an outstretched hand…

And he found himself waking up in his cot. He didn't switch the lights on this time. He didn't need to. Trapper was up and his lamp illuminated the tent. He was playing solitaire on a crate nearby.

"Wild dream?" he asked Hawkeye without looking up.

"Yeah," his bunkie responded. "Once upon a time, there was a Daddy Bear, a Mommy Bear and a –"

"Hawkeye, I don't love you that way," Trapper interrupted. "You need to stop dreaming about people picking you clean."

To Hawkeye, this was a relief "I'd kiss you, but I don't think you'd like the taste," he said merrily.

"Yeah, well, just keep it quiet," Trapper said as he flipped around card. "I'd like some sleep sometime. Hearing you talk about me and Margaret is getting on my nerves."


	7. Spearchucker and Ginger: The Same Flock

Spearchucker was a pretty lonely guy. Sure, he had friends in the camp… _white friends,_ he meant…but that did not make matters better. He was not a general surgeon, only a neurosurgeon. He was also the only black man on the base. _That_ made some pretty awkward conversations, for sure!

Hawkeye Pierce made him feel pretty welcome and even conned Henry Blake into transferring Spearchucker to the 4077th. Granted, it was for a football game of all things, but it brought him someplace where he felt less harassed. It did not mean that his new friends understood him. It just meant that he was accepted and protected from a lynching.

Granted, that was a good thing. But Spearchucker found that there wasn't anybody else on the base that was black and felt the same pain he did. It made for some awkward meetings at times. Hell, even the nurses backed away, like he had some disease.

That is, until _she_ came. Ginger Bayliss arrived at the camp shortly after that football game. She was the sole black woman in a jeep full of white women. She was confused and quite scared in the far back seat. She thought that she did not belong there. She was a lonely bird in a different flock.

Spearchucker saw her from his position outside the Swamp, where he was playing a game of gin rummy with Ugly John, Trapper and Hawkeye. He was in love at first sight. He almost missed his turn and had to be called back by Trapper. But throughout that game, he kept looking at _her_. He almost went up in arms the moment Margaret Houlihan came around too and was devastated when he no longer had her in his sights.

Hawkeye saw this and put a hand on his shoulder. "Not yet, partner," he said in a southern drawl. He pointed to the cards. "Your move, Tex."

The game continued, even though the black surgeon got thinking about _her_. This whole farce reminded him of home, the way that pretty lady peered around her and showed her obvious fear. Back in the States, he always had to deal with a cruel hand and he was sure that she did too. It wasn't until this war that bodies had to be counted and it not matter what color you were.

He just had to introduce himself. He did not want this beauty to believe that she was all alone. They had to stick together in the white man's war, no matter what.

The chance came later. Spearchucker managed to find his way to the nurses' tent, where his (hopefully) new friend was bunked. Lieutenant Baker answered the knock and allowed him in. Again, there was the stillness that came with a group of white women with a black woman. Spearchucker tried to make light of the situation, saying his hellos and such, and was surprised when he did not need to ask about the new nurse. Baker already had her up and center.

Spearchucker's breath was almost taken away. He almost did not hear her name. _Ginger Bayliss_. He could not get enough of her, from the fuzz of her dark hair to the soft feet that pattered across the dirty floor. It took a lot of effort to ask her to come outside with him.

"I think it's a good idea," Ginger said carefully.

Spearchucker stuttered a reply. "I-I-I know a p-p-pl-pl-place by the creek."

"That sounds like a great idea, soldier."

He did not like the title and grew defensive. "I'm a surgeon, not a common –"

Ginger put a finger to his mouth to shush him. "I know."

That prevented a heated argument. When he looked into Ginger's eyes, he knew that it wasn't worth it. It was best to lead her to his spot and hope for the best. Already, the other girls were whispering. The gossip was going to be around the camp before nightfall. If he was lucky, he'd have an hour with Ginger.

 _Major Houlihan will make sure we'll never be together._

The thought was like a stab to the heart. Spearchucker could not bear it. He had to get his time with Ginger, before the vultures come to pick the carcass. He took her hand and led her away.

Outside, there was a wall of people on either side of them, blocking their view of the Korean landscape. Ginger did not seem to mind. Spearchucker thought it was odd, especially since they weren't white, but black.

All of them were cheering them on like it was some spectator sport, but their words did not make sense. It was all gibberish and it was harder to understand the more Spearchucker tried. Their nonverbal meaning was clear though. Ginger and Spearchucker will be the first black couple in the camp and everybody wanted to see it. It was a joyous occasion.

Spearchucker rushed Ginger to their destination. They found a rock to sit on. Behind them, these people began to crowd. They came closer and closer, chanting louder. Their words were becoming more comprehensive.

"Kiss the girl!"

"You know you want to be different!"

"You'll never be part of them, boy!"

"Them white people will never accept you!"

Spearchucker found it disconcerting. He hoped that Ginger did not hear it. She still did not seem to. She only seemed to enjoy their time and the loneliness of the place. It was remote to her, enough that she was brave to reach out for his hands. She folded his digits into hers. It was a gesture of comfort as well as love.

"I am sure you are enough," Ginger began.

"Enough…for _what_?" Now, Spearchucker was bewildered.

"For yourself," she clarified. "For your career. For _me_."

Spearchucker never thought he'd hear those words from a woman. "We can stand together, against them." His shoulders motioned to the group that was still intoning. "Can we not?"

"Of course, we can," Ginger reassured him. She reached in for a kiss. "You just need to understand that you need to wake up."

It was a cue. Spearchucker kept hearing the words, but did not know what Ginger meant. Wake up from _what_? Did she really hear the words from those people? Was she a part of them? Was this all some invented scene that Spearchucker dreamt? Or was this some sick trick of his mind, telling him that he could have a bird of his flock nearby and not feel so left out?

Spearchucker woke up, all right. He was in he VIP tent. Ginger was sitting next to him in a Swamp lounge chair. She chuckled to her, counting her winnings. When his sight cleared enough, Spearchucker noted that she had most of his clothing and a pair of boots. She did not give him the decency of a blanket, he was that naked, nor did she care. It was all about the prize underneath all of the clothing.

"You owe me two shirts and your cologne," Ginger said as she finished counting her gold. She laughed merrily. "Are you sure you still want to play?"

Spearchucker had to think about it for a moment. He sat up and grinned. "There isn't anybody coming in anytime soon. We've got some time, my bird."


	8. Margaret and Duke: Mantle of Command

Margaret had seen it all in this war. She was one of the first nurses on the scene in Pusan and dealt with more bloodshed from that point onward. It was tough dealing with the perimeter and then moving north as the armed forced deemed it. As a woman, she and her nurses were considered too sensitive and oftentimes pushed back. She denied this. She also had to prove that she could rough it out like the rest of the boys. This also meant competing with many of them.

One of the men drove her insane when a unit had been established and building began in earnest. His name was Duke. Well, _technically,_ it was something else. Margaret could not remember what. What mattered was that he was a pain in the ass and not Regular Army. He thought that he was best invention after sliced bread. He took charge and pretended that he was the uppermost ranking officer on base, even though she was a grade higher. He even treated her worse than an enlisted man.

Margaret took it in stride. The newly-dubbed 4077th had yet to be in working order and people had tempers worse than usual. True, she had to push herself as much as the next person and never rest. She didn't care that somebody was barking orders at her. But things changed when enemy fire drew closer. Once he began treating her like a bag of potatoes and saying that women were inferior, the game was on.

Margaret cornered Duke one day. He was directing some enlisted personnel. The floor of their OR was being built and he had been yelling at them nonstop about where the boards should go, why the adhesive had to be applied and much more. Margaret waited patiently enough, arms crossed and foot tapping, and grabbed Duke by the shoulder when nobody was looking.

He yelped. That pleased Margaret. She wanted nothing more than to cause him pain. She pulled harder, dragging him hard enough that he was tripping over rocks and screaming at her about giving a man some peace.

"Dammit, Major, can't you me work?" Duke demanded loudly. By then, his uniform was bloodied by her abuse.

 _Oh, no. Not this time! I am giving him hell!_

Margaret found some privacy (if she wanted to call it that) where the actual hospital was situated. The walls had been built, but there was no roof and the floors were still dirt and pebbles. She pulled Duke inside this skeleton structure and threw him in a corner.

"How dare you?!" she screeched. "How _dare_ you?!"

Margaret repeated the phrase several times without explanation. Duke was confused, but did not back down. He didn't understand why the nurse was acting like a lunatic and what he did wrong _this_ time. He only tended to his minor wounds while she ranted. However, when Margaret finished, she took a deep breath and lunged forward. She kissed him.

She was surprised with herself. Margaret was pretty good at controlling herself except with officers that carried two or more stars. Duke was a nobody in the Army. He hardly had any career to speak of and came from some silly little town with no significance. He took _her_ mantle of command and turned it into some comedy hour. Laugh with the men here, bark at them there, and have a drink on the side – that was all he was made up of.

Margaret pulled herself back immediately and slid a finger across her disheveled hair. "How did you like that?"

"I'd like it better in a tent," Duke replied huskily.

"There isn't any one around." Margaret checked left and right frantically.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Sugar. There should be something somewhere around here. You leave that to me."

Margaret was skeptical, in the very least. She knew the camp (or what was built anyway) like the back of her hand. At the moment, there was hardly a tent anyone could call their own. Everybody, including the women, was sleeping in camp bags on the ground and sought shelter under ponchos and soaked blankets. She didn't believe that Duke had something hidden.

He took her by the hand gently. Together, they walked out of the building and down a pathway. Margaret recognized where they were going. They were close to the river. She didn't know Duke extended the camp this far. Then, she mused that it might not be part of the base as that was not their allotted space. It was a place of privacy he made for himself.

It was exhilarating indeed! Margaret gasped when they came to the little hut by the water. It was a common one, similar to ones she had seen in some of the burnt villages south of where they were, but it held so much allure. It also was untouched by the tragedy of war and that was excited her the most. She clapped her hands like a child and ran forward. Duke could hardly keep up with her.

"Hey, Sugar! Hey! Wait up!" He jogged after her. "This old draftee can hardly keep up."

"Come catch me!" Margaret taunted as she turned. "You can't catch me!"

"Oh, I think I can. You just need to learn how to let go."

"Can't catch me! _Can't catch me!_ "

Margaret felt free. It was the first time in her life that she never had to think about regulations, rules and structure. She was a woman all on her own, pretending to play with a man she hardly knew, and abandoning all responsibility. The wind around her whirled and her hair wickedly whipped with it as she rushed forward. All the while, she hoped that Duke understood how liberated she was and how she was anxious for his touch.

He ran after her, of course, but it was like slow motion. Margaret stopped in the darkness, trying to see where Duke was, and continued to beam. However, when he drew closer, he started fading until he was next to her. By the time his fingers reached for her hair, Due had disappeared.

Frowning, Margaret tried for the doorway. When she exited, she did not feel like she was on terra firma. Her feet led her down into thin air. Colors streaked past her as she fell. Faces expressed disappointment above her head. Her own emotions overwhelmed her. But, oh, down and down a rabbit hole she went. Where she stopped, nobody knew.

 _Down, down, down…_

When Margaret woke up, she jerked upward. She sought to silence her lips and was partially successful. She smothered her screams into a pillow and slowly calmed down before an MP came in. It was only a dream, she mused. Duke was no longer here and she did not love him. She and Frank had a wonderful dinner and sleepover. His snoring form was next to her was evidence enough of that.

Yet, she thought of it. It was strange indeed. But the more Margaret thought about it, the more it might have made sense. She was always afraid of not being equal to a man and having control and structure taken away. Other questions plagued her with that revelation though. Was it really her mantle of command being taken away? Was she truly in control of her life? Did she really need a man to guide her and validate her existence?

 _Not yet. I am safe._

And that was that. Frank will make sure of it.


	9. Hawkeye and Margie: Covered Mouths

It was only Thursday. Typically, the average businessman will anxiously wring his hands, waiting for the bell to ring the next night and for the weekend to start. Not for Hawkeye Pierce. He _relished_ a day like this. While civilian life was not his for the time being, another anxiety plagued him in the deserts of Korea: the women's weekly laundry washing and drying. Since Trapper was never as perverse, he went alone to ease his desperation and loneliness.

It was his favorite time of the week. Every Thursday, just before his night shift, he'd grab a lawn chair and a snack. Sometimes, he managed to grab some goodies from the kitchens. Other times, he took with him a flask of gin and something sent from home. But with a piece of heaven in his hands, he sat amongst the angels and listened to their wet clothing sing the song of nakedness.

Oh, he was sure that they were wet for him too. All he had to do was ask a few nurses. Some of them swatted him away. Sometimes, he was happy to get a kiss or three. When Lady Luck was on his side, he might have a date. It was a match made in the eyes of God.

 _But I'll never tell the Padre that._

The appointed day was here. Hawkeye grabbed his set and dragged over a box from home. His dad sent over more than just a bottle of scotch and Oreos. Hawkeye was glad to find a pair of nylon stockings for a special lady friend this evening and some perfume (if he was blessed). His dad was not above helping him woo the opposite sex if the request was not too outrageous. Hawkeye thought he just enjoyed making strange care packages.

The day was bright and cheery for an autumn day in Korea. Halloween was less than a week away. The air boys overhead zipped by loudly. Bets were calls by the nurses' showers and for the cockroach races by Post-Op. Every so often, an ambulance came by, but none of them were delivering new patients. The day belonged to Hawkeye and some beautiful nurse.

Between the three nurses' tent, lines already had been put up. Hawkeye considered it a loss that he missed the initial rituals. It didn't matter, he knew. All that mattered with him was seeing the linen being put up and the random semi-naked nurse running by from the showers. He set up his chair and positioned his snacks and booze. The box from his dad was set to the side. Somebody will come by shortly.

It didn't take long for the first victims to come out with their baskets. Margie Cutler led the way. She balanced her wet load on her left hip. She hopped with her right, attempting in every way to keep her balance with boots too large for her small feet. When she settled near Hawkeye, she ignored him. She pulled out a long nightgown and pinned it. She continued this with several other pieces that didn't fit Hawkeye's taste.

The other girls seemed to follow Margie's example. There wasn't anything that appealed to Hawkeye whatsoever. They seemed united in keeping their best to themselves.

Hawkeye was going to curse his luck when some of the girls brought more clothes out to the lines. He leaned forward a little. Now, _here_ was where it was going to be interesting! This was where the party was going to begin.

The surgeon thanked his patience. His eyes glanced every which way to catch the best line of clothing only the nurses could bring. Each vivid piece filled his eyes with extreme pleasure. He pictured each woman in every one hung to dry. He also imagined every one of them being stripped naked by his capable hands. _That_ was an illusion so desirable that his mouth watered and drooled down his chin.

He realized his mistake quickly. He wiped his face by the time they finished minutes later. It was then that Margie noticed him. She called out to the girls that she'll be back and to take her empty basket inside. She waved goodbye as she swung over to Hawkeye.

 _Oh, ho! Here comes the moment I've been waiting for my whole life._

"So, what brings you here this week?" Margie asked him.

"Well, I was hoping you'd come to my place," Hawkeye replied. "You bring your empty bag and I'll supply the candy."

"Very funny." Margie tilted her head just _so_ , ostensibly interested. "Have a seat for me?"

Hawkeye patted his lap. Margie acquiesced and squeezed herself in. She curled right into his arms and allowed the game to begin. Hawkeye didn't care though. He was so delighted that he snagged such a beautiful dame that he didn't note that Margie was beginning to take over…and that she got too close to his face and bit his lower lip hard.

"What the hell?" Hawkeye managed to say. It came out almost like he had a lisp. Blood shot down heavily as he spoke.

Margie disappeared as the surreal vision dimmed, but her final words still echoed in his head. "If you think you'll get away with being a cad, think again. Some of us are committed to a _real_ relationship."

Reality set in. Hawkeye blinked his eyes and woke up. The sun had set already. Dinner fortunately had passed and his shift was within the hour. When he rolled over, he saw Radar standing over him. He would have screamed, but held his tongue. Instead, he put a hand to his mouth in an effect to stop the bleeding.

 _But was there any blood?_

"Colonel Blake wants you in his office, Sir," Radar announced.

"What now? The end of the war arrived without me?" Hawkeye groaned. He pulled his hand and noted no blood.

"No, Sir," the company clerk confirmed. "Something about putting Majors Burns and Houlihan in a hammock and suspending it between two trees."

"They caught us again," Trapper sleepily called from his side of the tent.

"I thought they could walk away from it," Hawkeye protested. "How was I to know it was ten feet high?"

Radar was already grabbing Hawkeye's boots, pants and jacket. The surgeon got up and took them without gratitude. However, his mind kept running to that dream. It was perfect in every way. He could have had the best of the bunch (other than Margaret Houlihan, of course). Instead, he was injured in the line of duty and because Margie attacked. What was he to think?

Margie Cutler was one swell gal anyway, he decided, dream or not. She was also tough as nails and will commit to one man at a time. She wasn't keen leaving Trapper anytime soon. And Hawkeye was not one to steal a damsel from his fellow cellmate.

Hawkeye was about to leave with Radar when Trapper tossed a boot at him. The holey relic hit him square in the back of the head. He yelped a protest about friends and shooed Radar on. He will deal with Henry Blake later. All he wanted to know was why his bunkie hurt him.

Trapper didn't sugarcoat the issue. "Stop fantasizing about my girl!" he yelled. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Hawkeye grinned. It was only a dream, he knew. But if Margie went his way, he'll cover his mouth and enjoy the ride.


	10. Ugly John and Duke: Quick Victims

Ugly John Black was one busy man. He usually stayed with the 4077th M*A*S*H as a gas passer, but his specialty also had him running to other units as well. He was with evac hospitals at the rear, running to Tokyo for some back-office work (and maybe a vacation on the golf course, weather permitting) and sometimes braving the Front Lines. But no matter where he was, he tried to keep his head down. While he was fond of all of his friends, he didn't like attention on himself and keep quiet about his skills. It meant he was less of a target and the enemy might allow him freedom if he was captured.

But it meant a social life without meaning. He played poker and drank to his heart's content and that was about it. While he had no wife and family to answer to (just his parents and numerous brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews), Ugly John sure as hell wasn't going to pretend that he was as stiff as Frank Burns. Something was missing in his life though and it wasn't just the mindless activities. He just couldn't name it.

Drinking and playing poker were fun. It was nice to be out with the guys. But when the nurses showed up, he felt pretty awkward. Oh, it wasn't that their kindnesses weren't nice. He just…well, he didn't feel _attracted_ to them. He'd eye them like they were unobtainable candy and pretended to joke around like the other guys. He'd even take a space in the Supply Room and fondle one in the dark. It was enough to satisfy them. Never _him_.

After one particular night at the 4077th, when the party lasted long after dawn, Ugly John had enough. His bleak mood set the stage for the time away from work. He didn't get as drunk as Hawkeye and Trapper had and declined so many offers to take a nurse that the others thought something was wrong. He waved them all away and kept to himself. He had recently been at the Front, he excused himself. Nothing more needed to be elaborated.

While he felt so angry inside, he knew that he had to leave. He had to get moving to his next duty station and heading out early was the best option. A jeep was readied for him the night before. It was still there when he arrived at the Motor Pool. Seeing no driver in sight, he chose to depart without one and forgo the farewells. It was best that way, to avoid the humiliation he felt. He couldn't hide behind the supposed agony of being in the middle of the action forever.

As he drove down the dirt roads alone, to the 121st Evac, Ugly John thought long and hard about what he wanted. Definitely, he had a bad case of dissatisfaction and soon realized that he had feelings for a man instead of a woman. Indeed, he couldn't continue to tolerate playacting anymore. He wanted to be loud and proud about who he was.

The problem was, he knew it will get him into serious trouble. Being somebody who loves the same gender will hound a man for the rest of his life. He will be dishonorably discharged. His civilian life will be considered criminal. Jail was a possibility. His family could disown him too. God knows that his family talked in whispers, in a disapproving manner, about those who were not like them!

Ugly John had to steady himself at the wheel at the realization of his inclinations. There was no way he could have a relationship with a man in the open. But in secret, it was another story. All he had to do was move in someplace where it was safe to talk about this sort of thing and work out the rest of the details. He surely can cover his ass well.

Some miles south, instead of the usual trees and brush, he saw a man walking with a pack on his back. Feeling brazen, Ugly John pulled over and asked the stranger if he needed a ride. He wasn't one for leaving anybody stranded, especially in the middle of Korea. While an area might be cleared, the enemy could still sneak in and pluck them off.

"Sure, partner," the man replied. "I'd love me a jeep, to get me back to base."

"Where to?" Ugly John inquired. "I'm heading to the 121st Evac."

" _Say,_ that's my destination too! What's your name?"

"John Black. People call me Ugly John. And yours, mate?"

"Duke. Duke Forrest."

"Well, Duke, today is your lucky day. I'm glad I drove out when I did. How in blazes did you get stuck here?"

"Jeep got bombed." Duke stuck his thumb backwards as he hopped into the passenger side. "Heard some action and pulled over and ran for cover. It's easier to explain a bombed jeep than that and a missing surgeon."

Ugly John nodded his head, to indicate that he understood, and began the trek once more. But something inside of him changed. _This_ was a highly attractive man. He was tall, with black hair and green eyes. The way he moved, with a flick of a finger to those dark locks, was slow and deliberate. It also inched a little closer than Ugly John anticipated. It was like Duke _knew_ that Ugly John was smitten.

It was a wordless exchange through the empty conversation Duke spoke. As the man continued to ramble on about his home in America (somewhere in the Deep South, as Ugly John caught), his hands moved to other places. First, they rest on Ugly John's back in a friendly gesture. They urged him to get a move-on. It wasn't a pretty day out in the woods of Korea.

Next, Ugly John felt the massage as he drove. It was relaxing. It lulled him into such a sense of security that he almost lost control of the jeep a few times. However, Duke was quicker and took the wheel when it was necessary. Ugly John would then sweep his hands away and the gentleness will continue down his back. He chided himself to maintain control. Duke could not take advantage of him. Not in his state of mind!

Then, things got hairier. The touch went lower. Ugly John felt himself tingle with anticipation as it grew lighter and lighter. It soon became a distraction he could not bear. He swatted Duke away many times, trying to keep his eyes on the road. It was difficult to keep track of where Duke was and the condition of the tracks ahead.

Somehow though, the atmosphere changed and he knew it. Ugly John managed to get them in an area where nobody had cleared. He always thought there was supposed to be MPs around to stop him, but they might have missed them in the quest to keep Duke's hands off of him. He did not think to pay attention to anything else except his new infatuation. He was so stupid!

"Look out!" Duke yelled, pointing to the smoldering destruction ahead. But it was too late.

Ugly John couldn't remember anything else as lights flashed in his eyes. He did recall waking up though. He soon grasped that he wasn't dead. He was still alive, sleeping off of a drinking binge at the infamous 4077th Swamp. Most importantly (to him anyway), he didn't have homosexual tendencies. He met the man in his dream maybe once or twice and he most certainly was not inclined that way either!

Hawkeye and Trapper had been observing him for some time and did not know about the dream. While dawn was approaching, they held drinks in their hands. They offered Ugly John one. He got up and took it greedily.

"I think I'll have that nurse now," he announced eagerly as he slammed down the glass.

The pair exchanged glances. "We're all out," they simultaneously replied.

"Well, is Margaret Houlihan available?" Ugly John asked. He rubbed his hands in an effort to keep them warm. "I hear she'd like more lips."


End file.
